To all: Yes – Sands made a promise – he intends to keep it… it may just take him a little longer than he'd like…
And again, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone for the reviews! Seeing them really makes my day! I'm sorry this chapter is a little short... next one is a little short too... but I can promise that it's interesting...
Chapter Thirteen:
Unseen Shores
I listen to the city go by – rubber tires on ancient cobblestone. Cars pass us – just regular passenger vehicles – no army trucks – no police cars with their sirens wailing. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I fish around in my pockets – every pack of cigarettes I have on me is empty. And Milo doesn't smoke… so I just sit and listen to the city pass us by. And I become acutely aware that the silence between us has grown very uncomfortable… which makes me more than just a little edgy… "What?" I finally ask.
"What – what?" He asks back.
"What is it?"
"I'm – I guess I don't really know how to react to what happened. To you."
"Don't sweat it," I tell him – mostly because it doesn't really matter now. It's done – it can't be fixed… I can't be fixed. (Although it could be argued that I was on the broken side to begin with…)
"Jeff – you were set up by at least two fellow Officers – even if they didn't know exactly what Barillo was going to do to you – you wouldn't have let your guard down around that woman if you'd known she was his daughter."
"You think I don't know that?" Fuck – I really need a smoke.
"I guess – I'm just – angry."
"Gee – you think I'm not?" Fuck me, I'm not in the mood for this… I should have left well enough alone with the uncomfortable silence.
"Truth is, I don't know that I wouldn't have taken a gun to my own head after – something like that."
"Don't think I didn't think about it."
I hear – hmmm – I can picture him – opening his mouth – shutting his mouth – the little gears whirling inside his brain…
"No, you don't have to take my toys away," I decide to let him off the hook before that hamster in his head – you know, the one responsible for making the wheels spin round – has a coronary while Milo tries to figure out how to ask me if I'm suicidal (or at least any more so than I've been accused of being before.) "If really wanted to off myself, I wouldn't need a gun to do it, anyway. We both know how many ways there are to kill a man."
He laughs – it's a fairly hollow laugh, "Yeah. I guess – I can't begin to imagine what you're feeling," there is a certain – overwhelming sincerity in his tone. "I – keep trying to – put myself in your shoes. Trying to – imagine – what I'd be doing right now, if I was suddenly – "
"Maimed? Mutilated? Betrayed by everyone, even your own God damned agency and you know it's all your own fault because you let yourself be blinded by some sweet little whore and then you find you've been caught with your pants down around your ankles? When you suddenly realize that life as you know it is over – you can't see – you can't – " I take a breath. "Can't even imagine anyone ever wanting to look at your face again?"
"You know that isn't true."
"No. I don't."
"I saw the way she looked at you when you told her good bye – and even if you can't see – you know people too damned well to tell me you didn't notice it."
I just lean my head back – and I've said it before but it bears repeating – it is the strangest damned thing that I want to shut my eyes even though I don't know there is nothing left to shut… "I don't know what was going on back there," I tell him honestly. I really – don't. I don't – I remember the kiss – but – that doesn't mean I understand it… I don't understand why I told her I'd come back... I don't know why believing that I would return seemed to - lessen her hurting. Because I do realize she was hurting... I just don't know why...
"Yes you do."
"Milo –" I shake my head; I do not feel like having this debate with him; I've been having it enough in my own God damned head. "What does she look like, anyway?"
"Don't you know?"
"Hello – no eyes – can't see," I reply in a caustic tone.
"You have to have some idea."
"I know her hair is blond – her eyes are green – but – it's still hard to put the rest of it together."
"She's pretty," he tells me, "In a Sweet Mary Oatblossom sort of a way. You know – real girl next door type. Her hair frames her face – it's sort of a honey colour and it's straight – with some red in it, when the sun hits –her eyes are green – green-green, not hazel," he begins filling in some of the gaps and a more complete picture forms in my head…
Belini described El's girl as the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen… and while I don't think anyone would describe my angel in quite those terms – I think she might be the most beautiful person I've ever met… and… I want to fill all those hurt little places inside her with pleasure – I don't want to be just one more empty promise – not to either of them... and… there are too many uncertainties in my future for me have made the kind of promise I made before I left. Christ I am an idiot... "So – why are we heading off my absolute favourite little patch of fun in the sun?" I ask – yep that's sarcasm there, kiddies. "I mean – wouldn't it be more – I don't know – expeditious – for me to stick around here and try to clear my good name?"
My second-favourite movie of all time – are you ready for this? Bated breath? Edge of your seat – gonna find out just what a twisted little fuck your favourite CIA agent really is? Well, my second-fave flick of all time just so happens to be a movie called Oscar, with Sylvester Stallone (although I am not what you would call a huge Stallone fan, he's made a few good ones) and Tim Curry (gotta love any man with the balls to wear that much make up.) Oscar was not a typical flick for either Stallone or Curry (not that I think Tim Curry has any sort of 'typical movie') – and it has everything a good movie should have: mobsters, Mozart, a bag full of lingerie and a bunch of moronic cops who can't tell the difference between a banker anda crook…. Well. Hmmm…. Anyway….expeditious is one of the words of the day our hero, one Mr. Snaps Provolone, expounds upon. And a good word it is – it means to get something done efficiently and quickly. Which is how I feel about the current situation – I want it wrapped up expeditiously.
(Oh, and in case you're wondering, my favourite flick of all time is Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads… man what a fucked up movie. I love it.) However, I believe I have digressed… you know, a cigarette would really help that… alas, I know better than asking Milo to pull over to appease my habit… Not only are we soon going to be on a plane (no smoking allowed – I really wish I could shoot everyone involved in making smoking such a fucking sin these days), but Milo has voiced his opinion on my nasty little habit on more than one occasion... and the cobblestone seems to have given way to paved road while I was digressing – oh yeah, and Milo is speaking.
"We aren't going to Eros – you are. I'm only staying long enough to help you get settled in."
"You're going to leave me there – all alone and defenseless?" I feign horror.
"Yes. And none of the staff had better come up dead, maimed or missing."
"Does that mean I can systematically pick off the guests?" I ask in a hopeful tone.
"No – you may not systematically pick off the guests, either."
"Killjoy. So just what am I supposed to do with myself – and more importantly, what sort of mischief are you going to be up to while sit around twiddling my thumbs in the sun?"
"You're going to take a couple of weeks to really recover – I've already spoken to the physician on staff –"
My almost-good mood evaporates. Apparently, it's a visible change…
"Look, Jeff –"
"No, you look – I am not an invalid."
"I never said you were. But you've had barely over a week to heal – you need more time to get back on your feet."
"My feet aren't the problem. The problem – isn't going to heal. You can leave me rotting on that island for the rest of my life – my eyes are never going to grow back," the bitterness in my voice surprises even me.
"You know – for a man who doesn't want sympathy, you sure seem to be doing a good job of feeling sorry for yourself."
I am still armed. I can could very easily pull the Browning out of my shoulder holster, point it at his head (not like I'd have any trouble finding it, he's sitting a whole six fucking inches from me) and pull the trigger… Which would leave the little matter of the car swerving out of control… and even if I grab wheel, I kinda can't see the road. Damn. Talk about having a guy by the balls… "Fine. So I'll sit on my ass for a couple of weeks if it makes you happy. What are you going to be doing?"
"I'm going to set up surveillance on Collins and Suarez."
"So – I sit on my ass, and you clear my name. Swell."
"You are in no physical condition to go into the field right now – and I'm not talking about your eyes," he tells me. "You need a couple more weeks."
Milo pulls off the main road onto a dirt road – ok, we are clearly not headed to the commercial airport… probably a good maneuver, really. Not that I'm really in any kind of mood to appreciate it. "I just don't like feeling useless," I tell him. When the fuck did I get so God damned honest? I mean – I don't admit to things like that. But – I guess Milo has seen me at worst… Fucks-it-stan-okov and all… "Just don't leave me out of the loop," I tell him.
"I'll be checking in with you twice a day – just to make sure you haven't shot anybody," his tells me – I'm pretty sure I hear a grin in there somewhere. "You know these guys better than I do – you know what I should be looking for. I'm just – just going to be your eyes in Mexico while you get back on your feet."
I can tell by his tone, he's waiting for me to loose it – but I just nod. I guess a part of me has finally started to accept that for the rest of my life I'm going to be at least a little dependant on other people… and I hate it. I hate myself for being blinded by a cheap piece of tail – but I would hate myself even more if I let them win – if I let them get away with what they've done to me. "I'd just rather not be so far away from the action."
"At the moment there are a few too many people in Mexico looking for you," says Milo.
Which of course, I know… and I don't want any of those people finding Beth because of me… so I lean back and try to enjoy the rest of the trip…
I'm too keyed up to sleep, even on the plane – too much is rolling through my head – too many random thoughts – and too few of them pleasant.
…. It's something like one o'clock in the morning – local time – when we finally land on Eros. No customs – no nothing – just a car from the resort waiting at the small private airstrip to take us to our destination. I would have been surprised by anything else.
…Milo hangs around just long enough to help me settle in – although he is polite enough to go take a walk when I ask him to give me twenty minutes to get acquainted with my room. It's probably just my pride – or vanity – but – I don't want anyone watching me stumble around in the dark, feeling my way along the walls, trying to remember where all the God damned furniture is located – which is very much a hit and miss operation…
I'm mildly surprised when I come to the balcony door – open it – and discover that Milo has set me up in an ocean side room, despite the fact that I can't appreciate the view. I step out onto the balcony – two chairs and a table… the air is cool and smells of salt and water – it's – clean. Clear. Far below, I can hear thesea crashing against the cliff… it's an oddly peaceful sound…
Mexico is – loud. Chaotic. The streets are dingy and over crowded. They smell – hot – sweaty – like old gym socks or the boy's locker room.The air is always filled with dust. It's dry. Stagnant. I hated Mexico…
But Mexico still has one thing over this and every other place on earth – it has my angels… I don't honestly know when I started thinking of either of them as mine... I lean over the ancient, wind-wornstone railing and listen to ocean crashing up against rocks, far, far below… it brings to mind that song Beth was singing… andI wonder if that isn't what she expects, to never see me again… I wonder if she doesn't just believe that I'll either get myself killed, or just be one moreempty promise… I have to wonder if she wouldn't be better off… I mean – what do I have to offer a woman like Beth? What could I possibly give Cicily except an even more screwed up childhood…
I shut and lock the balcony door (paranoia) and make a second go around the room, mostly to keep my mind off of other things...
After I'm satisfied that I can make it from the bed to the bathroom without breaking my neck, I make my way back to the lobby where Milo is chatting with someone – I hear his voice almost the instant I step off the elevator. (Yes, I have the damned cane still – I hate it – I hate it that it pegs me as handicapped… but I'm not stupid either. I'm in completely foreign territory here…)
Milo comes over towards me, with the someone he was talking to in tow (I can hear two sets of footsteps.)
"Jeff – this is Tiffany – she's the resort's main concierge."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sands – please, if you need anything at all, you just let me know," she says grasping my hand firmly in hers – she sounds barely out of her teens – and has that kind of cute voice that suggests she may have been a cheerleader in high school. I'm also pretty sure she's shorter than I am. "Just dial nine-twenty-two on any phone and it'll ring straight through to my phone – and I've always got it on me, day and night – don't ever worry about the time. Just call – even if you just feel like some company."
I think I'm getting a caffeine buzz just standing next to her…
"The resort's courtesy car is at your disposal – I've already spoken to the library in town – they have a small selection of books in Braille and on tape. The librarian, Mrs. Angeline, told me that she could get more from the mainland, it might just take a day – and if you don't want to go into town, I would be more than happy to arrange to have anything at all brought right to your room. If you want to give me a few titles now, I'm sure I can get at least something to you by tomorrow afternoon," she sounds so – hopeful, like a little puppy… a little over-caffeinated puppy…
I wonder if she comes with speed control... "Um – I was in the middle of Body Count by Burl Barer," I wonder what the sweet little puppy will make of that… if she even knows what it's about… somehow I doubt it.
"Anything else?"
"Dead and Buried, by – Corey Mitchell…" What else was on my reading list? "Through the Window, by Diane – Fanning," I have to think a minute to remember the last name of that one…
"Ah – Jeff," Milo interjects, "How about a little light reading."
"That is light reading." Just because the books I've just listed are all about serial killers, rapists and assorted other real life crime (and all of it heinous in nature…)
"So much more becomes clearer now," he mutters under his breath.
I just chuckle and turn in the direction of my perky little concierge, "All right, just to make my friend here happy – earlier this year I bought a book that I haven't had a chance to read yet – maybe you can find me a copy of Eric Garcia's Anonymous Rex." I can practically hear Milo's eyebrows hitting his hairline and I smirk in his direction, "Didn't think I had a sense of humour, did you?"
"I knew it existed – you just don't want to know what I thought of it."
I continue smirking…
Tiffany excuses herself, but tells me again that if I need anything at all, all I need to do is dial nine twenty two on any phone in the hotel and she'll be right there… Then just as she's bounding off, she turns to remind me that Dr. Answan is expecting me first thing in the morning – whatever time I'd like first thing to be… and then finally, she is gone… and I'm reminding myself that I promised Milo I wouldn't kill anybody…
Milo walks with me as far as the elevators – "So what exactly did you say to this doctor anyway?" I ask him.
"Just that you were involved in an 'acccident' recently, and it would be best for him not to inquire further. I've nursed a few of my more unusual injuries here myself – Answan is the soul of discretion."
"If you say so," I'm still feeling a little leery of doctors.
"Look – Jeff – I hate to – leave –"
"I'm a big boy – I can take care of myself – and if I can't, I've got Tiffany."
He chuckles, "She is a little overwhelming."
"What's she doing here anyway – I mean – she's a girl."
"Think about it this way – you've got a daughter – imagine her as nineteen and wanting to go off and see the world – can you think of any safer place than a gay resort?"
"Hmm. Good point." Of course there's still the townies – but town, as I recall, is a good five miles out – and it sounds like Tiffany is pretty devoted to her job – either that or Milo slipped her a few bucks to keep an eye on me…
We say our good byes – I hate being left like this. Not the being left alone part – the feeling left out of the loop part…
But there isn't much to be done about it. He's right – I need at least another week or two before I'm really going to be fit for much of anything… back in my room, I rummage through my suit case and find my toiletries – and that wonderful shampoo Beth got for me…
Before heading into the bathroom, I pop her CD into the room's player – finding play is a minor challenge – but I opt for the biggest button first and what do you know…
In the bathroom, I arrange everything carefully on the sink so I can find things without having to grope around in the dark – then I run a bath (the tub is a good three feet deep, three feet wide and six feet long…) While it's running, I double check that the doors and windows are bolted – and just to be sure, I lock the bathroom door from the inside and I set the Browning within easy reach.
A long hot soak does me some good – and by the time the birds are singing, my sorry ass is collapsing into bed…
I dream of flying bullets and breaking glass… of angels' wings… of shiny metal drills and other pointy nasty things… I dream of the scents of Beth's garden and flying through Neverland with a little girl who's face I'll never see but who's voice fills my darkness… and… I wake up alone in the dark, tangled up in the blankets of a king sized bed,drenched in sweat, wondering if that kiss in the hallway wasn't just another dream… because – really – what do I have to offer a woman like Beth?
---
Jackie left on a cold, dark night
Telling me he'd be home
Sailed the seas for a hundred years
Leaving me all alone
And I've been dead for twenty years
I've been washing the sand
With my ghostly tears
Searching the shores for my Jackie-oh
I remember the day the young man came
He said, "Your Jackie's gone
We got lost in the rain"
And I ran to the beach
And laid me down
"You're all wrong", I said
And they stared at the sand
"That man knows that sea
Like the back of his hand
He'll be back some time
laughing at you"
And I've been waiting all this time
For my man to come
Take his hand in mine
And lead me away
To unseen shores
I've been washing the sand
With my salty tears
Searching the shore
For these long years
And I'll walk the seas forever more
Till I find my Jackie oh
Sinead O'Connor
---------------------------------------------
The same woman from whom I snagged the quote a few chapters back, about palace motes and alligators, also introduced me to the movie Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead (and she's a Scorpio). Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads… is a reference to the first two or three minutes of the movie, in which a tossed coin keeps coming up heads. For further understanding – just rent it (fair warning, it's a bit surreal - andit'll help if you're at least marginally familiar with Hamlet.) Basically, it seemed just twisted enough – and dark enough – that a guy like Sands would enjoy the heck out of it – even if he was the only person in the room laughing.